


Shared Thoughts

by I_was_BOTWP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor, Legilimency, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 09:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP
Summary: Harry and Hermione have a secret power... that they mostly use to amuse each other.  Thank you 89JadedPictures for being such an amazing cheerleader for me!





	Shared Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I imagined Harry and Hermione practicing Legilmency and Occlumency together, starting when Ron left them during the Horocrux hunt, and deciding to keep their mastery of it a secret, figuring it could be an excellent weapon if no one ever realized they could do it. Years later, they have still never divulged to anyone, even Ron or Ginny, that they can enter each other’s minds with ease and be purposeful with what the other sees.
> 
> Disclaimer: I had a dream once that I owned Harry Potter. It was much better than the dreams where I show up to class, only to realize that I haven’t attended a single lecture all semester and it is time for the final exam. The former being a dream was a disappointment, while the latter was a relief.

Harry was so bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Percy’s presentation to the assembled department heads regarding upgrades to the Floo Network had already been going on for three hours, without any end in sight. He caught Hermione’s eye across the table and raised a brow at her. She smirked back, glanced around surreptitiously, then looked him in the eyes. Ron came barging into the kitchen, where Hermione stood, working on dinner, red hair replaced on just one side of his head with black dreadlocks. “Apparently, Lee’s hair is so magnificent, George thought everyone would enjoy it. The git made an aerosol spray to administer the potion and had it rigged up to go off when the front door to the shop opened. I managed to duck quickly enough - it barely got me. Except now, my wanker of a brother thinks it is even funnier that I am stuck with half a head of black dreads, so he won’t give me the antidote or even more of the first potion to complete the change on the other side. I’m stuck with this crazy shite, Mione!” Hermione stared at him in horrified awe. “Maybe we could just shave your head?” she asked timidly. Harry managed to cover his laughter with coughing. Percy gave him a glare. Harry kept a carefully blank face as he sipped on some water. When it appeared Percy was once again engrossed with hearing his own voice, Harry dared to look back to Hermione. She mouthed the words “your turn” to him. James found all of the candy Ginny had so carefully hidden away after Christmas and had in turn hidden himself away with the stash. He gorged on it until he was surrounded by wrappers, sitting in a sugar-induced stupor. Harry found him unnaturally still, in a corner of the shed. “I don’t feel so great, dad,” he managed to moan before he puked in front of Harry’s feet. The vomit was very dark colored, and along with the acrid smell, there was a sickeningly sweet scent to it as well. Suddenly, the glob moved, lurching forward, hitting the toes of Harry’s boots. “Bloody hell! What is that?” Harry screamed, recoiling in horror. James, looking abashed, said, “I think there were about 20 chocolate frogs in there.” Hermione couldn’t decide if she should be impressed by James’ ability to eat so many Chocolate Frogs quickly enough for the charm to still be active, or just disgusted by vomit which appeared to be alive.

* * *

 

Hermione had been avoiding Harry for days. Always going somewhere urgent, no time to talk. Sitting in her office with her door locked. Taking her lunch outside the ministry, without him. No more, he decided. He basically tackled her into an unused conference room, setting locking and privacy charms behind them. “Ginny’s been acting weird since you and her and Luna went out dancing last week. She came home so drunk, I’m surprised she retained the ability to say her last name clearly enough to make it through the floo. Merlin knows I’m not complaining, but, well, she’s been wanting to shag constantly for the past four days. She swears no other man kissed her or anything like that, yet she also keeps cryptically saying “What happens in Muggle London stays in Muggle London.” What happened?” Harry demanded, looking a bit desperate. “You are well aware of the rule of “What happens in Muggle London”, Harry. You’ve used it yourself.” Harry’s eyes narrowed at Hermione. He knew how to sniff out her obfuscation. “Completely different circumstances. Tell me my wife isn’t lying to me. Please, Hermione.” “Your wife isn’t lying to you, Harry.” Hermione turned to leave. Harry grabbed her wrist and turned her around. “You can’t pretend to be black and white with me, Hermione. I know how well you work within the grey. I want the truth of what happened. Not your unconvincing cover story.” Hermione sighed. “Why are you making me choose, Harry? You know I swore to always pick you, and you did the same for me. This isn’t one of those times when it is important enough for you to push it,” she pleaded with him. “No.” “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you don’t like what you see.” Hermione stood at the bar, ordering a round of shots for the three women. She was visibly tipsy, but not so far gone she wouldn’t get served. When she leaned against the rail to shout at the bartender over the deafening music, someone grabbed her ass. She whipped her head around to tell off whomever dared. Two men stood behind her with what they thought to be sexy grins. “No thanks,” she yelled, turning back away. She paid for the drinks and went to find her friends. The two followed. Over the few minutes, they both kept hitting on her, even when Ginny and Luna tried to dissuade them by pulling Hermione away onto the dance floor. When the men, in a final act of desperation, they tried to sandwich her on the dance floor, Ginny whispered something to Luna, then grabbed Hermione’s hand, pulling her away while yelling at the aresholes, “She’s taken!” Hermione didn’t quite know what to do when Ginny started to snog her furiously, so she went with it. Just when she started to gather her wits, Luna spun her around and pulled her into a deep kiss. Hermione came away panting to see Luna smirking at the two men standing open-mouthed. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. Now shove off!” Luna told them, before leaning back in towards Hermione. Harry stood with his hands buried in his pockets and his pupils slightly dilated. Maybe Hermione had been wrong about him not liking it. Interestingly, he didn’t look abashed. More like he was calculating something. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Well… Yep.” “I’ll just leave first, yeah? See back out there in a minute?” Hermione asked him mockingly. “Right.” About 40 weeks later both Hermione and Ginny were welcoming new babies to their families.

* * *

 

Harry marched into Hermione’s office a few minutes before the work day was set to begin, shut the door and gave her an embarrassed look. “Might as well get this one over with, it’s going to spread like wild-fire through the family before the day is done,” he said, pre-emptive to pushing into her mind. Harry wore the same clothes, so this memory must be from the earlier that morning. He floo’ed into Molly and Arthur’s living room with James and Al. Ginny was home on maternity leave with Lily; Molly watched the boys for a few hours every morning, returning them to Ginny after lunch. “I have breakfast on the table, boys. Would you like to have some milk to drink?” Molly asked as they walked into the kitchen. Arthur sat at the table, enjoying a cup of coffee and the morning paper. “Yes, please,” James replied. Turning to his dad, he said, “Do you want some milk too? I heard mommy telling you that you couldn’t keep drinking the milk in her boobies, because it’s for baby Lily. Grandma, can daddy have some milk?” The coffee in Arthur’s mouth ended up soaking the newspaper. Molly looked at Harry with her mouth open, rendered speechless for one of the few times in her life. Harry stared at his shoelaces intently. The only sound in the room was Al beating his spoon against the bowl which held his porridge. James looked at each of the adults in turn, his eyes wide, trying to figure out the situation. The tap tap tap sound Al was making sounded ungodly loud. Finally, Harry mustered enough strength to mutter, “No, Molly, I won’t be needing a glass of milk. I’ll just be on my way now,” before jogging to the fireplace and jumping in to make his escape. Hermione realized she might look a bit like Molly as she sat at her desk with her mouth wide open.

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and George were playing charades against Ginny, Ron, and Angelina. Harry and Hermione tried not to be cheaters - years of being rule breakers in order to be survivors led to a slight alteration in their moral code. They justified it by only used their secret if they were behind and needed to make a comeback. And not every time. Just the times when George was foolhardy enough to lay a wager on the outcome. Hermione mimed putting a ring on her finger. Next she pretended to be an insect crawling around on the ground. Finally, she ran around looking like she was catching butterflies in a net. Rather than memories, Harry and Hermione perfected another way of sharing information. One person would imagine being in their office, sitting at their desk, writing on a piece of parchment. The other person watching would then be able to read the message. It proved difficult to create these fake memories to share with each other, and as such, needed to be short. Hermione sat in her Ministry office, quickly writing out the words “Marry + Ant + Net = Marie Antoinette” “Marie Antoinette!” Harry shouted out. “Bloody Hell! How did you get that, mate?” Ron asked incredulously. “From Hermione doing ‘marry’, ‘ant’, and ‘net’, obviously,” Harry smugly replied. When it came around to Harry again, he picked out a slip he knew to be written by Ron, not only based upon the atrocious handwriting, but also by the subject. Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The bloke harbored an unhealthy obsession with Monty Python. Harry didn’t even need to get into Hermione’s mind for this one; he just couldn’t resist. While he mimed riding a horse and then clapping together coconut shells… Harry and Hermione were sitting on her parent’s living room sofa, eating Chinese takeout and watching BBC. The summer after the war ended, they snuck out together once a week to the Muggle world and pretended to themselves that they were still innocents, knowing nothing of the magical world. Neither wanted to spend this precious time explaining everything they took for granted to Ron or Ginny. Monty Python and the Holy Grail played on the tube. Harry jumped up off the sofa, pointed a finger at Hermione, and spoke along with the actor onscreen. “We have found a witch! May we burn her?” he cried out. Hermione joined in his fun, springing up as well to answer in an indignant voice, “I’m not a witch!” By the time the scene ended, they were chortling at the absurdity of the situation. As they flopped back onto the sofa, Harry handed his fortune cookie to Hermione, telling her he’d had enough prophecy for a lifetime and she was welcome to it. She stood up, walked to the kitchen, and chucked both cookies into the bin without cracking them open. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” George smiled. Ginny launched a throw pillow at Ron’s head, saying, “It’s like you want to lose, picking something that easy, you wanker!”

* * *

Harry and Hermione were watching a training display put on by a team of Hit Wizards. It didn’t contain anything revolutionary. Harry sighed. He knew they needed to be there for appearances, but really there was no need to take time out of his overbooked day to watch duels which any of his Aurors could perform in just as well. He leaned over to Hermione, who sat next to him in the little seating area off to the side of the small arena. “Tell me about the camping trip,” he whispered to her. “The kids loved it,” she whispered back, “Well, except they thought we hiked too much.” She turned towards him just enough to get eye contact, not wanting anyone to notice they weren’t both facing the pair currently fighting. Little Hugo was whinging about his feet hurting and he wanted someone to carry him. Rose told him he needed to stop being lazy. “You’re such a baby,” Rose informed her little brother. “I’m not a baby! I’m three!” he yelled at her. Ron was in the lead on the wooded trail, followed by Rose, Hugo, and Hermione in the rear. Hugo continued to alternate between whinging and yelling at Rose. Hermione and Ron both tried to ignore the children as they took in the scenery around them. Hugo decided he was over it and laid down in the middle of the trail. Refusing to get up, he cried and kicked his legs in an actual temper tantrum. Ron stopped and stared. Rose scoffed, “Baby!” Hermione tried to step over him and carry on, thinking he would get up and follow. No dice. Ron huffed in exasperation and went back for him, lifting the boy onto his shoulders. Now everything was sunshiny again with the youngster. He clapped his hands with glee at being atop his father. Ron took over the lead once more, with Rose back in the middle. There was the world’s shortest interlude of blessed quietness in the forest. Hugo’s shorts were pulled down a bit and his shirt rode up so quite a bit of skin showed. “I can see Hugo’s butt!” Rose taunted, “Look at Hugo’s butt!” Hugo turned his head enough to look back at his sister, “So what? It’s a cute butt! Isn’t is mum?” Hermione chortled and agreed with him. “No, it’s not cute! It’s poopy!” Rose yelled. “My butt is not poopy! Your face is poopy!” Hugo yelled back. “Nuh-uh! Poop comes out of your dirty butt. It’s a dirty poopy butt!” Rose retorted. “No it isn’t! I haven’t pooped today. It is a clean cute butt. Mum, tell Rose my butt is clean and cute,” Hugo begged. Hermione dutifully droned, “Hugo’s butt is clean and cute.” “Daaddd…” Rose said drawing out the name, “Tell Hugo his butt isn’t cute. It’s poopy.” “I bloody well hope it isn’t poopy, since it is inches from my face!” Ron said sharply. “Language!” Hermione reprimanded him. “Dad said bloody,” both kids said in unison with glee. “Looks like loads of fun,” Harry sarcastically told her, still in a whisper. “We made s’mores over a campfire,” she defended, a little too loudly. She and Harry both faced forward stoically.

* * *

Harry consciously stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Cormac McLaggen was the personification of the stereotypical Gryffindor. Bold, with nothing to back up his claims. Bravery boarding on foolhardiness. The dumb jock who repeated his seventh year at Hogwarts. Yet, here he stood, working in the Ministry. Sure, he had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. And Ginny insisted the wizard displayed a humbler side during that final year at Hogwarts, helping with the revived DA while the trio lived on the run. Harry believed Cormac parleyed those two things, along with the influence of his uncle Tiberius, into his current position within the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. Hermione insisted the aggressive git wasn’t the reason she transferred departments after only a couple of years, yet Harry believed Cormac’s presence was a contributing factor. Cormac had just been made Department Head and seemed to think Harry’s Aurors were at his beck and call now. Harry sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he prepared to once again explain why he wouldn’t be sending anyone to “talk” to Fleur Weasley about some random spurned witch’s insistence that her wizard had been seduced by a Veela against his will, leading him to ask for a divorce. Fleur wasn’t the named Veela, but Cormac thought she might know the culprit. Harry wanted to shake Cormac and explain that the middle-aged divorcée was just trying to save face when her husband ran off with a woman half her age who was obviously not a Veela. An interruption came in the form of a knock sounding on the door and Hermione poked her head in without waiting for an answer. She tried to pull it back out and run away when she spotted the other occupant, but Harry needed her there. It wasn’t fair to leave him alone with Cormac once she knew about his presence – a real friend would never do that. Never mind that he would probably try to run away too, if he were in her shoes. “Hermione! Cormac has a very interesting idea about undercover work which he would like to share with you,” Harry called out before Hermione could escape. “I… Uh… What?” Cormac stuttered as Hermione walked back in with an audible sigh. “Yes, it’s brilliant really. He wants to transfer money from his department to ours to fund a position with the job description of following philandering wizards around, looking for proof of Veela-induced lust,” Harry said in mock-seriousness as he allowed Hermione to see his favorite memory of McLaggen play out. Harry had shared this little gem with Hermione more than once before, yet it never got old. Harry and Cormac stood together at the Slug Club Christmas party during Harry’s sixth year. Hermione had just managed her escape from the worst date of her life. Harry watched Cormac pop a dragon ball into his mouth as Snape walked up. The immense feeling of satisfaction at what happened next was compounded by it occurring between two of his least favorite people. Cormac earned himself a month of detentions when he puked up raw dragon onto Snape’s shoes. Hermione giggled. “Why is that funny?” McLaggen felt a bit indignant; he suspected neither person took him seriously. He hated not being taken seriously. Hermione put her hand on her hip and in her best condescending tone asked, “Are you telling me you want to take this to Kingsley? In front of a Gringotts goblin in order to transfer funds? I mean, if you want to give me money to basically hire a gossip monger, let’s go down to the Minister’s office now to schedule an appointment.” Hermione glanced over at Harry and shared two memories he had never seen before. Cormac, with a lecherous look on his face, came sauntering toward Hermione’s desk, smack dab in the middle of the large open room, with about 20 other desks around her; it was the first year she worked at the ministry, straight out of Hogwarts. Cormac’s desk sat three down and one over from hers. She fingered her wand and Cormac tripped over his own feet. He got up, red-faced and headed towards his desk instead. Hermione came out of the restroom situated down a hall within the DCRMC. Cormac stood right outside, trying to look like he coincidentally just exited the men’s room. He couldn’t quite pull of the nonchalance needed to go with the subterfuge. He was waiting for her. Hermione’s hands smoothed down her skirt, a move she worked on perfecting to make it look like subconscious nervous grooming. Really, she was getting just enough contact with the wand hidden in her thigh holster to do a small nonverbal jinx. Cormac began sneezing. Hard. By the sixth sneeze, his eyes were watering, spilling tears down his cheeks. On the tenth sneeze, he doubled over with the violence of it. When he stood up straight again, the sneezing seemed to be over, but there was now a small wet spot on the front of his trousers. He realized it when Hermione’s eyes flicked down. He muttered a Scourgify as he quickly turned into the loo to hide his embarrassment. Harry couldn’t believe Hermione devised a sneezing spell that was strong enough to cause a wizard to piss himself a bit. He often considered himself lucky to be her best friend rather than her enemy. He raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her to use it now. In the intervening years, her wandless magic had improved – Cormac let out a sneeze without a move from the witch. Cormac turned to Hermione with a queer look on his face. Not quite horror; he didn’t know for sure she was at fault for his predicament. It looked more along the lines of a small amount of trepidation. When the second sneeze hit, he stood up, haphazardly gathering his papers off of Harry’s desk at the same time. “Well, let’s not be too hasty here. I can have one of my people interview the other witch first. We have a potion that can counter a Veela’s charms for an hour, if she is indeed a Veela,” he pushed out breathily between the third and fourth sneezes. He reached the door on the fifth sneeze. “I’ll send you a memo about it, Potter.” Harry and Hermione followed him to the door to watch his departure down the hall. His gait picked up to a trot as he headed towards the loo after his sixth sneeze. The raven-haired man and curly-haired woman dissolved into laughter.

* * *

Monthly finance meetings were the bane of Hermione’s existence. She ran the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at or under budget almost every month. In fact, so far, only a single month in her entire tenure ever ended over-budget. The overtime needed to have an obliviation team fix the disaster which occurred when a bunch of Turkish wizards mistook an Olympic Stadium full of fans for a Quidditch match proved consequential. Yet, here she was, sitting with Kingsley, the accounting team, and each of her direct reports, going over her department’s numbers, just like they did every month, listening to the gravelly voice of their Gringotts goblin liaison list line items meticulously. Thank Circe Harry had to attend these meetings too, in his capacity of Head Auror. Harry was using the loo in his home. He stood in front of the toilet, holding his cock, enjoying a piss. Suddenly, the door flew open and three-year-old Lily stood there. Harry tried to angle his body in a way to block her view without cutting off the stream or ruining his aim. “Sweetie, daddy’s using the bathroom.” “I need to go potty!” she said in a cute, yet demanding, whine only preschoolers are able to achieve. “Ok, as soon I finish, Lily,” he assured her. He hadn’t managed to completely hide himself from her, as evidenced by her matter-of-fact declaration, “Your penis is much bigger than James’ and Al’s penises.” There was the choking sound outside of the loo, and then Ginny’s loud laugh rang out. Hidden under the table, Hermione pinched her leg so hard it was sure to leave a bruise, bringing tears to her eyes, in order not to laugh. Goblins abhorred being laughed at. The meeting ended soon after. As they walked out, a smirking Hermione quipped, “I’d sure hope so.”

* * *

Harry saw Hermione making a beeline for his office the morning of April 2. George’s birthday was always a big deal in their family and they’d all been out late night before, in spite of it being a weekday. First, the entire family, including all of the grandkids, met at The Burrow for dinner. Following dinner, everyone floo’ed to Diagon Alley to eat ice cream at Fortescue’s. Molly and Arthur then took all of the kids home, keeping them overnight, leaving the younger adults to pursue their own shenanigans. Many years would find one or more witches pregnant, leading to her either being the designated apparator or possibly sitting out the excursion. Last night, all eleven of them (Charlie still being single) found themselves out on the town without any of the wives currently pregnant. The night could best be described as epic. Charlie managed to smuggle in about a pound of shrooms from the forests around the dragon reserve for the occasion and even Percy had agreed to try them. George set off a fireworks show timed to music that had been intense, to say the least, with everyone tripping. Thank Godric for hangover and pepper-up potions. Hermione shut the door forcibly, and sat down in the chair in front of his desk seething with anger. “You are not going to believe what I had to deal with this morning!” Hermione stepped out of the floo into her living room, holding both of her children’s hands. Hugo immediately ran towards the kitchen, wanting to tell Ron a story about something to do with Louis, Freddie, and a gnome. Rose turned to Hermione and asked timidly, “Mum? What’s a contraceptive charm?” “Where did you hear about that?” Hermione hedged. Rose avoided making eye contact. “Nowhere. Is it something bad?” Rose nervously scuffed the toe of one shoe on the floor. She was smart enough to know something about this topic wasn’t right, hence the reason she waited to talk in private with her mum, rather than anyone else. “No sweetie. Did you hear it from one of your cousins?” Hermione started considering if she needed to have a talk with Fleur about Victoire. Rose looked up with wide eyes, realizing that she might get someone else in trouble for her curiosity, rapidly saying, “No, I overheard two witches by the public floo in Diagon Alley last night as we were all getting ready to go back to Grandpa and Grandma’s house. One of them asked the other if it was possible for an entire bloodline to be shite at contraceptive charms. And the other one said Weasleys are proof enough.” Rose had tears in her eyes. Hermione couldn’t berate her for the foul language, she had just been repeating exactly what she heard and the blame here did not lie with the young girl. Hermione bent down to hug her daughter, making sure her own inner angst remained hidden. “Oh Rosie. All babies are a blessing. But, sometimes, it isn’t a good time for a witch to fall pregnant. There is a spell a witch or wizard can cast to make sure it doesn’t happen. That is what a contraceptive charm is. I don’t know why those two witches felt it necessary to be derisive of our family’s choices, but we feel lucky to have such a large and loving family. You have no reason to be ashamed.” Ron walked in then and told Rose it was time to go to her and Hugo’s Muggle primary school, cutting off the conversation. Rose tried to hide the fact she was wiping away tears, but Ron caught it. He raised a brow at Hermione, who in turn mouthed back ‘not now’. “Shite,” was all Harry could think to say.

* * *

Hermione and Harry were in the lift, travelling to Kingsley’s office. They found themselves alone when the only other occupant exited two floors before the Minister’s. Harry remembered something he’d meant to ask Hermione for days now. “How did you and Ron go about teaching Rose to defend herself from unwanted advances? ‘Cause I’m not so sure about Ginny’s approach.” Harry was walking down the hall when he overheard Ginny talking to Lily in her room. “Tell me again what you do if a boy or a man ever tries to grab you,” Ginny instructed their six-year-old. “Punch him in the bollocks and penis as hard as I can and run away screaming. Ask questions later,” Lily enthusiastically replied. “No, that seems about right,” Hermione said as the gates opened to their floor.

* * *

September 2 always lent itself to a weird air hanging over the Ministry. Parents had put their children on the Hogwarts Express the previous day and now were back at work with a mixture of relief, worry, and exhaustion. A few witches and wizards looked like they’d gotten their first good night’s sleep in months. Hermione didn’t need to look in the mirror to see she looked like shite. And she certainly didn’t need Harry coming in and locking the door behind him. “Spill it Hermione,” he said without any preamble, planting himself in a chair across from her. The worry on her best friend’s face was evident and she didn’t need to add to it. “It’s nothing important Harry,” she said evasively. Hermione shuffled the papers on her desk, looking busy. Harry knew if he walked away, Hermione would bury whatever is bothering her in the mind-numbing bureaucracy endlessly strewn across her desk. “It’s ok to be nervous about her. Remember what a mess Ginny was when we took James to the train for the first time? Rose and Al will be fine. Rose is going to take Hogwarts by storm.” Damn Harry for his stunning insightfulness gained with age, Hermione thought. Well, he was the head of a team of detectives after all, and it really wouldn’t take a genius to realize her thoughts were on Rose after putting her onto the train for the first time yesterday. “I know she will be fine, Harry. I am not worried about her.” Harry watched Hermione sigh and sit back in her chair. He mirrored her posture, waiting. Harry observed Hermione gathering herself. She nervously chewed on her bottom lip, looking out her impressive row of enchanted office windows at The Thames. Even here, deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, a witch’s status could be determined not only by the size of the office, but also by the presence of windows. Finally turning to Harry, she said, “It’s Ron.” “It’s Ron?” he repeated back at her, sounding a bit foolish to his own ears. “Yes, the problem is Ron, not me.” “What’s wrong with Ron? Is he sick? Is there a problem with the joke shop?” Harry leaned forward, firing questions at Hermione. “Harry! Stop! What I mean is that it’s Ron who is overly worried about Rose, not me. Maybe it would be easier if I just showed you?” she offered. Ron was thrashing in bed. Hermione leaned over him, shaking his shoulder, attempting to wake him. “No. No, Hermione. No. Help, someone! No, Rose! Rose!” Ron sat up abruptly, eyes wide open. He looked at Hermione and pulled her into his strong arms. He stated to cry. “Hey, it wasn’t real. I’m ok. Rose is ok. She’s right down the hall in her room,” Hermione said in a soothing tone, rubbing his back. “We were back in first year, with the troll attacking you in the girl’s bathroom. Then you weren’t you – you turned into Rose. And Harry and I weren’t there to protect Rose. She was all alone with the troll,” Ron sobbed out. “She’s going to be fine. She’ll have James and Al and a whole pack of Weasleys watching over her. She has cousins and she’ll make friends easier than I did. She won’t be targeted like we were. Things are different now, you know that,” Hermione bit her tongue to stop the rambling she fell prone to when feeling helpless. Again, Ron was twisted up in the sheets, moaning in his sleep. “Rosie, stop! Don’t go that way! No! No! Noooo…” Ron woke up sweating, staring at Hermione with unseeing eyes. He blinked forcibly a few times, and then his eyes darted around their bedroom. When he again met her gaze, his body relaxed with the realization it had been a nightmare. Hermione pushed him flat on his back and snuck herself under his arm, snuggling into the crook of his arm, lying her head atop his heart. She listening to its wild tempo slowly start to steady itself. She rubbed circles on his chest with her hand. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked gently after he let out a long sigh. “It was the Department of Mysteries. At first I floated above it all, watching us, which was horrible enough. I saw myself attacked by the brains. I saw you run off. I knew what would happen next – Dolohov was going to come within inches of killing you. Suddenly Rose appeared, chasing you, her wand drawn to help.” Hermione turned her head, kissing the place on Ron’s chest under which is heart lay. Once more Hermione was trying to wake Ron up as he thrashed in their bed. He wasn’t yelling this time, whatever he may be saying in his nightmare stayed locked behind his lips. He gasped out a single word upon regaining consciousness, “Rose.” This time, Ron gathered Hermione into his arms. He propped himself up against the headboard and pulled her to him, so she was sitting across his lap. He tucked her against his body, cradling her to him as he cried. Hermione wrapped her arms gently around his neck and waited for him to quiet. He appeared to doze off, but he proved he hadn’t when he said just two more words, “Malfoy Manor.” Hermione’s left arm began to itch. Harry had tears in his eyes. Hermione couldn’t help the pang of guilt she felt at subjecting her best friend to his other best friend’s nightmares. “That last one is from last night?” he asked. She nodded. “It’s because we saw Malfoy putting his son on the train, isn’t it?” he asked, knowing the answer already. She nodded again. Harry’s imagination unfortunately put him back in Malfoy Manor, watching Ron scream and strain in vain, trying to get to Hermione, trying to save her. Then he swapped out Hermione for Rose. He couldn’t stop his stupid stupid brain from exchanging Rose for Lily, and he felt dread settle in, knowing what he would go through if his daughter was being tortured. He stood up, walked around the desk, turned Hermione’s chair outward, then knelt down between her legs. They wrapped their arms around each other, lending support and love. A few minutes later, he pulled back to look at her, “I’ll owl a few of the blokes and put together a pickup Quidditch game for tonight. He may come home drunk. Ok?” Hermione nodded before pulling Harry back in for a crushing hug.

* * *

Sunday brunch at The Burrow happened every week, rain or shine. The pandemonium inherent in nearly 30 people gathering to eat was a given. There was always a family or two who peeled off soon after the main meal to head home. The remaining people persued various activities for the afternoon. On this particular August day, the kids headed off to the swim in the pond, while the adults headed inside to play some cards. Harry reminded Arthur that the elder wizard promised to let Harry borrow a few brooms for Al’s birthday party taking place the next weekend. Harry went back outside to gather them from the shed. Harry appeared again inside very quickly without the brooms and sidled up to Hermione’s side. “You know how people say they wish they could unsee something?” Hermione turned her head to ask him what he was talking about, making the mistake of looking into his eyes. Harry opened the door to the shed, distracted by thinking about how many brooms and which ones he should grab. Most of the ones out there would be considered collector’s items by now. A few years back, Ron had joked that they should just donate them all to a museum. Moving past Arthur’s piles of Muggle electronics and instruction manuals, Harry rounded the corner to the back portion of the shed, where all of the Quidditch equipment was stored. Lying on the floor on his back was Teddy. Naked. With an equally naked Victoire riding him furiously. She was facing Harry, but mercifully, her eyes were closed. Harry turned around and left, undetected. “Why Harry? Why? You didn’t need to share that! Arsehole!” she whisper-yelled at him. “Misery loves company,” he spitefully told her.

* * *

Hermione was sloshed. The best thing about these ministry events was the copious amount of alcohol offered. She looked over at Ron. Yep, he was pissed too. He had three slices of chocolate cake in front him and a dopey grin on his face. Hermione watched Ginny and Neville attempt to tango; they were failing miserably. In their inebriated state, they were clueless. One table over, Harry perched on the edge of a chair, gesturing wildly, arms moving in circles like a windmill, speaking to Viktor Krum about something. Viktor replied, slicing his hands through the air in a sharp cutting motion, causing Harry to shake his head in exasperation. What were they discussing? Was everyone drunk? Harry glanced in Hermione’s direction and she suddenly remembered the time he made her watch his godson shag their niece. Hermione was at Viktor’s family estate in Bulgaria, spending two weeks with him the summer after the Tri-Wizard tournament. They were sitting by the pool in his backyard on a hot afternoon. “Herm-own-ninny, I have question. Do you know of charm to remove body hair? I have no other female friends to ask this to and I can not ask men. I shave using Muggle razor to make my body more, how do you say…? Aerodynamic? Yes, that is word. Aerodynamic, for when I play Quidditch. But, see? The stubble, and I have too much hair and need to shave too many times. Sometimes I get rash,” he pointed to his chest and legs as he moved up to stand beside the chair she lounged in. Harry choked on the firewhiskey that had just passed his lips. Viktor moved closer, to pound him on the back. Harry jumped away from the other wizard’s touch with a flustered look on his face. Out of sight from Viktor, next to his thigh, he hid the fact that he was giving Hermione the middle finger. Hermione saw it though, and gave Harry a wink.

* * *

Harry could see how stressed Hermione was. He knew that part of the blame rested on his shoulders. He really disliked paperwork. He had been petitioning for the ability to hire a personal assistant for the past three years. Each year he was turned down, informed it couldn’t be fit into the budget. His tendency to procrastinate happened to be something Hermione would probably harp on him for until the day one of them died. Percy’s penchant for producing reams of unnecessary parchment didn’t help her tension levels. In theory, Harry didn’t fancy the idea of the Minister of Magic standing in his office, telling him that he wasn’t doing his job correctly. Good thing Hermione now held the minister. He stopped her mid-sentence with some nuggets he had saved for just such an occasion. ‘Deflect!’ he thought. Ginny was standing in front of Harry, with her hands on her hips. “I am not letting Al dress up like a Basilisk for Halloween. It is mackabra!” “What is it?” Harry asked in a very confused tone. “Mackabra. Like morbid or horrifying, because of what happened to me,’ she stated. “You mean macabre?” “Hermione lent me this book,” she told Harry holding up a paperback for him to view. “Anna Karaneena is a Russian upper class woman from the 1870s who cheats on her husband. Why does she think I will like it?” Harry looks at Ginny, wondering if it would even matter to correct her on the pronunciation of the fictional character’s last name, since he doubted she’d read it. “Luna took me to a vegan place for lunch. Everything on the menu seemed to be made out of something called kwinoah. I was scared to ask what it was, so I just ordered a bowl of the soup of the day,” Ginny confided. “Quinoa is a grain that…” Ginny cut him off, “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.” Hermione snickered. “Mackabra! Like it rhymes with abracadabra! Oh Merlin,” she laughed as she turned to exit Harry’s office. He deemed his deflection tactic a success, until she poked her head back to in to snipe, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you owe me some paperwork.”

* * *

“I think that I need to investigate a jinx on Draco,” Harry revealed to Hermione over lunch in the ministry’s cafeteria. “He hasn’t said anything, but I noticed a series of events that I don’t think are a coincidence.” Draco gets into the lift, holding a cup of tea. Harry nods at him, “Draco.” Draco nods back, “Harry.” Draco takes a sip from the to-go cup and exclaims, “Shite!” as he leans forward at the waist, holding the cup away from his body. The sudden movement makes sense when Harry sees hot tea spilled down Draco’s tie and around the first button of his suit coat. Harry is presenting to the Wizengamot for a case his department has spent five months working on. He scans the room as he speaks, his eyes landing on Draco just as the wizard takes a sip of tea from a disposable cup. It is almost a slow-motion scene as Harry witnesses the bottom break out and the liquid cascades down Draco’s front and into his lap. The blonde jumps up yelling, “What the fuck?!” Harry sees Draco and Scorpius walking down Diagon Alley, each carrying a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Probably from Fortescue’s; they served the creamiest version of it in the winter, when fewer wizards and witches would have popped in for ice cream. The father and son stop in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies to stare through the window at the broom display. Harry could see the scene unfolding in the reflection of the glass. Draco raises the cup to his lips, only to have the green tie peeking through his travel cloak turn a sodden brown. “Oh, for Salazar’s sake!” Draco moaned. Once again Harry meets Draco in the lift, this time Draco is empty-handed. Harry can’t help but notice the satisfied smirk on the other wizard’s lips. Draco arches an eyebrow at the dark-haired wizard. The lift stops at the next floor, and more people crowd in. The witch next to Draco is jostled in closer to make room for the new arrivals and some of her tea splashes out of the cup she is holding. Straight onto Draco’s chest. “Bloody hell,” he sighs; the smirk now replaced with a look of resignation. Hermione had a smirk of her own on her face. She knows she shouldn’t find it funny… But, it was hard not to find a smidgen of humor in the situation. Harry watched her little inner war and knew “good Hermione” won out when she pulled out a piece of parchment and a pen. He really loved that she used Muggle pens. “Ok, so have you ruled out yourself as a cause? Does it only happen when you are around? At first, I thought it might be something to do with the tea, but it happened one time with hot chocolate. Maybe it only happens with hot beverages? Have you witnessed him spill water or anything else on himself? How many other times have you seen this? Ooooh! Maybe his tie is jinxed to attract liquid? But, only in public?...” her last question trailed off as she scratched down notes and waited for Harry to respond to the questions she had already posed.


End file.
